


Pure

by Disniq



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Purgatory, Purgatory Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disniq/pseuds/Disniq
Summary: Dean tries not to dwell on those thoughts, because he knows he shouldn’t be having them. Knows he wouldn’t be having them topside, not without alcohol and repression and lots and lots of sweet little barflies to help him forget the urge was ever there.Down here, he finds it popping into his head at frequent, but still sort of random times.He watches Benny stalking across a clearing, coiled tight and ready to pounce like the predator he is, and thinks he wouldn’t mind being the prey.
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Pure

**Author's Note:**

> So while we all collectively freak out about the Drowning trailer and Purgaytory 2.0, here's a fic I wrote back in season 8 and never posted.

Dean’s kind of surprised by how _easy_ Purgatory is.

  
It’s not without it’s challenges, but mostly they boil down to, ‘Can I kill it?’ It’s simple, and he’s good at it.

  
And there are things Dean misses, of course, but they aren’t all the things he thought they’d be.

  
Sam goes without saying, obviously, and he’s working on the Cas situation. He misses his baby and his music. He misses being clean, but he also misses his clothes, which catches him by surprise. He misses his dog-eared copy of The Lord of the Rings that’s been stuffed in the bottom of his duffle since Sam went to college. He misses his old bracelets, even though he hasn’t worn that kind of jewellery in years, and he misses his amulet so desperately sometimes that he find himself rubbing his chest where it used to rest.

  
He misses sex, which is a shock in and of itself because he hadn’t been all that interested even before the Amazon sperm donor incident and he hadn’t been kidding when he told Sam he was swearing off of girls for a while, period. What’s more of a shock are those times when he catches himself looking at Benny’s broad shoulders and strong arms, those times when he thinks swearing off of girls might not be that much of a problem for him.

  
Dean tries not to dwell on those thoughts, because he knows he shouldn’t be having them. Knows he wouldn’t be having them topside, not without alcohol and repression and lots and lots of sweet little barflies to help him forget the urge was ever there.

  
Down here, he finds it popping into his head at frequent, but still sort of random times.

  
He watches Benny stalking across a clearing, coiled tight and ready to pounce like the predator he is, and thinks he wouldn’t mind being the prey.

  
Twice he catches himself staring at Benny’s fingers, wrapped tight around the handle of his makeshift axe, and Dean wonders what the hard built up calluses would feel like against the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs.

  
He listens to Benny whistle, sometimes, and wonders if he’d moan so lightly through an orgasm, or if he’d groan out quiet curses in that husky voice of his.

  
Dean finds himself distracted by the rolling muscle in Benny’s legs as he runs down a skinwalker, the flex of his arms as he bears it down. He latches on to it’s neck, tears it’s windpipe clean in half and that really, really should not get Dean’s blood pumping faster.

  
And the weird part is that Dean doesn’t actually get the follow through shot of guilt. He feels more weird that he doesn’t feel weird than he does for sort of lusting after the technically dead, definitely male vampire that wants to Conga his way out of the afterlife with Dean’s immortal soul.

  
Benny catches him off guard. Does that stalking thing again, right across the corpses, striding towards Dean all silent intent and purpose, never once breaking eye contact, and, shit, it’s even more hot on this end and Jesus Christ what is wrong with him?

  
Dean backs up despite himself, hits the dense bark of a particularly thick-set tree and barely has a moment to wonder how he let himself get cornered before Benny is on him.

  
He’s big. Dean already knew that, in theory; had been noticing the thick slope of shoulders and the heavy muscle on his back. It’s so much truer in practise, though, with all that bulk pressed right up against him; hard and unforgiving.

  
There is absolutely no doubt who has the control in this situation. That probably shouldn’t make Dean’s cock twitch, but there are a lot of ‘shouldn’t’s already in play, so.

  
“You’re so loud, sweetheart. You ain’t fooling me.”

  
Dean feels his hands being seized, drawn up above his shoulders, doesn’t fight it. His mouth is dry, throat tight, but he manages to croak, “What?”

  
“I can hear you,” Benny drawls, in that stupid sexy accent. “Clear as day.”

  
And that makes about as much sense as anything else that’s happening, which is to say; none at all, but before Dean can try for a better explanation Benny lunges for his neck. Dean makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan, tries to flinch away but Benny’s holding him steady.

  
There’s no actual biting, but the prickle of tiny, needle-point fangs is a constant sensation over the sucking of Benny’s lips and the lapping of his tongue. He licks over and over Dean’s jugular, makes a hungry little sound in his throat that makes Dean wonder if he can taste the blood through his skin.

  
A thigh works it’s way between Dean’s legs, presses up, and he’s grinding down onto it before he’s even realised. He can’t move his hands, clamped together tightly above his head, now, and that turns him on more than he imagined it ever would. Benny’s other hand – huge and strong and sure – grabs at his hip, pulls him down more, harder. Dean cries out, tries to choke it back but, holy hell, it’s so fucking good.

  
He feels too hot, burning up and it suddenly occurs to him that he’s still fully dressed. He hasn’t come in his pants since he was 16 and Janey Harris let him put his hand up her skirt, and the idea that he might now, nearly two decades later, with a monster that could rip his throat out any second should terrify him, but it only sends a whole different kind of heat lancing through him.

  
Benny’s hand slips up, slides under his layers of shirts and finds skin, spreading heat with his fingertips. Dean hears himself whine again, moaning like such a slut he thinks he should feel embarrassed about it. He buries his face in Benny’s neck, muffles the sounds and inhales the musky scent of sweat and dirt and blood.

  
Dean’s whole face is burning hot, and he isn’t sure if it’s a blush or a flush anymore, isn’t sure he cares. Benny digs his blunt, grimy fingernails into the flesh of Dean’s shoulder, drags down hard and it lights Dean up inside. He arches forward and pushes back into it; demanding with his body because he sure as shit can’t make his tongue work.

  
The tickle of teeth at his neck moves up to his jaw, the rasp of Benny’s beard almost as exciting as the nip of his fangs. Both his hands rake at Deans back, now, but Dean doesn’t drop his arms. He’s relishing the burn of his muscles, the stretch in his spine and the ache of the scratches in his flesh. His dick rubs deliciously against Benny’s leg and heat pools in his belly, coiling tighter. He isn’t even trying to be quiet anymore, fleetingly thankful that they already cleared the nest out before it triggers memory flashes of Benny ripping into flesh unrestrained and wild, almost feral, and that makes Dean cry out again and thrust down harder, faster. God, he’s close.

  
When thumbs dig hard into the flesh just above his hipbones, it feels like Dean’s blood is boiling over. Long fingers dip into the waistband of his jeans, squeeze the flesh of his ass hard and shove him forward into another thrust and he’s gone. His vision actually flashes white, tendrils of heat flashing through him as his body goes lax.

  
He comes back to himself in time to see Benny pull his own dick out, and Dean has the presence of mind to think reciprocation’s probably good etiquette, but he feels too burnt out to actually do anything but watch Benny’s face as he bites his lip and grunts throatily when he cums.

  
Still boneless, Dean slumps down amongst the tree’s roots. Benny tucks himself away and joins him, pats his knee. They sit in silence for a minute, then-

  
“The hell was that?”

  
“You aren’t as subtle as you think you are,” Benny says, lazy and playful. “I saw you lookin’, and I can hear your heartbeat.”

  
And Dean’s not going to argue with that.


End file.
